Necessary Removal
by Lorelei Alleria
Summary: For those of you under 17, feel free to read this one, but know that the following chapters may have much more harsh ratings and you may be left out.
1. Chapter I: The Meeting

As Spike entered the bar, he searched for the darkest, emptiest corner available and made himself comfortable. Looking around, he saw a dim, smokey room, which was almost empty. A few people sat at the bar. Most of them were drunken old men. Easy targets, if it wasn't for this damn chip in his head. He missed the thrill of the kill. Surveying his surroundings a bit more, he noticed a cloaked figure across the room. The figure seemed to look his way, but a second later, its head was down, looking at an unknown object on the table. He cocked his head to the side, observing this Figure more closely. Clothed in simple black robes, a large hood covered the mysterious stranger's face. The figure's hands were busy fidgeting with something which he could not see. A waitress came by minutes later and he ordered a gin and tonic. Not his usual drink, but he wasn't feeling his usual naughty self tonight. Quite the opposite, actually. He was miserable as ever. Not that he would pass up a good fight, but he wasn't going to go looking for trouble this evening. The waitress brought his drink over. Her scent wafted under his nose making him lust for the taste of hot blood rather than this cold hard alcohol. 'Well, it's better than nothing,' he thought and took a large gulp. Again, his eyes strayed over to the dark Figure in the corner, who, again, seemed to be looking his way. Confused, he finished his drink and motioned for the waitress to bring him another. This time, he kept his eyes on the Figure. And the Figure kept its eyes on him. He began to wonder if maybe he knew this person. He thought of waving, but quickly dismissed the idea, deciding it was stupid. He racked his brain for a clue. Still, this Figure did not seem familiar. Perhaps it was just a Druid or Sorcerer who could sense he wasn't quite human. The waitress then brought over another drink and he mumbled a thank you as he barely took his eyes off the cloaked stranger. He looked over to the Figure one more time and saw that it was blatantly staring at him, not wavering in its gaze. Annoyed, he slammed down his glass, strutted over to the table and sat himself down.  
  
"What do you want?" He asked the mysterious person.  
  
"I've been watching you." A female's voice answered.  
  
"I noticed. What for?" He snapped.  
  
The figure looked about her and, when no one was watching her, she lowered her hood. Her dark hair, offset by her icy blue eyes, spilled down over her shoulders. Thick and shiny, it waved a little, framing her pale, round face nicely. A large patch was worn over her left eye and practically covered half of her face. Her mouth, though, was completely visible. Sitting below a small rounded nose, her lips were a soft pink, parted slightly in a tiny smile. Her cheeks were pale, a sheen of the whitest skin he'd seen in a long time. Overall, this woman, whom he estimated to be no older than twenty, was beautiful. He found himself staring and would have kept his eyes on hers if not for a glint of silver at her neck that caught his eye. A small shiny rune dangled from a black velvet collar. The rune was carved deeply into a circle of silver in many sharp lines which seemed to bounce off of each other. Finally, the entire symbol was encased in a circle. It almost resembled a pentacle, but was too far off to be mistaken for one. Observing it more, he realized that didn't recognize its origin, so he dismissed it, assuming it was unimportant.  
  
He grew impatient waiting for a response. "I said, what for?"  
  
"I heard you were in the market for a reverse love spell." She said quietly, holding his gaze, her sweet voice throaty, scratchy, sexy.  
  
"You know me?" Spike asked quizzically.  
  
"I know OF you. You're from Sunny Dale. Fallen in love with a Slayer, I hear." She paused, looking at him sternly. "I'd like to help you get rid of this little problem."  
  
"Why?" He asked suspiciously.  
  
"Because that's what it is. A problem. Vampires do not love Slayers. Vampires KILL Slayers. You've killed two yourself." Her tone was condescending. She had a distinct authority in her voice that Spike didn't like. He looked away. When Spike didn't respond, she leaned over the table and continued, changing her tone. This time, she sounded tempting. She wanted the Slayer dead. That much was clear. "Don't you miss it, Spike? The rush? The thrill? Don't you want to kill another?" She whispered.  
  
"Not her."  
  
"You won't feel that way once I'm done with you." She said confidently, perhaps even seductively.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"My name is Faitlin." She smiled, then reached up to the eye patch. Slowly pulling it off her face and over her head, she revealed her other eye, made entirely of silver. Still, though, her eye was lined with black thick lashes, and sat under a thin black brow. She was scarred severely, a long line, coming down from the eye, stretched across her cheek to her jaw, roughly an inch away from her ear. Another ran up from her eyebrow to her hairline, deep and red. This was the mark of the Magi.  
  
Immediately recognizing it, he exclaimed softly and in awe, "Magi." He stared a while longer. He'd never been in the presence of a Magi before. They were all powerful witches and warlocks, some from this dimension, others from far off places. Hells, which he would rather not think about, too creepy, even for him. It was told that the Magi were able to waltz through time or dimensional portals whenever it pleased them, make reincarnations look like child's play, and kill a human in a glance. He respected them as he would respect anyone of that stature. Smiling suddenly, he joked, "They really branded you good, didn't they?" Gesturing to her scar.  
  
"Being all powerful isn't as glamorous as they make it out to be." She smiled back. She looked around the now empty bar. The waitress seemed to be in the kitchen and the drunkards at the bar had cleared out. Their privacy was ensured. She no longer felt the need to lower her voice. Speaking at normal volume she asked, "Well? Do you want my help or no?"  
  
Weighing his options, he quickly decided that he would never have another opportunity as good as this to get rid of his pesky feelings for Buffy. Spike looked Faitlin right in the eye and nodded, knowing he somehow had probably just made a pact with the devil herself, and they both stood. Faitlin walked toward the exit and Spike followed closely behind. As silently as they had both came, they left, neither paying for their drinks. 


	2. Chapter II: The Spell

The two black shadows crossed the parking lot quickly. As they neared the road, they crossed and moved down an alleyway. Spike looked to the side at his new companion. She seemed to float effortlessly over the asphalt. She directed him into an old warehouse. When they entered, she glided down a flight of rickety old stairs. Spike followed behind her, stumbling on the steps, which almost fell apart under his feet. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she told him to wait. She disappeared into the darkness. A second later, a match was lit and the flame was held to a candle, which sat on a table in the center of the small room. With the dim light, Spike was able to see his surroundings easily. The room was not much to look at. With the exception of a book case along the back wall stuffed with old musty books and a table covered with a black table cloth upon which sat many white candles ready to be lit, the room was sparsely furnished. An old arm chair sat in the left corner of the room. Its crimson velvet covering was finely coated with a thin film of dust. Spike walked towards it slowly, still checking out the room, then plopped down on its musty surface. He looked at the book case. The books he could see were so old, their binding was falling apart. He snatched one from the case and flipped through it. The pages were stained a nasty yellow and it was written in an ancient text which he could not decipher.  
  
"And what are these?" He asked.  
  
"Gifts. From my inauguration." She answered matter-of-factly, not looking up from her work. She was mixing some herbs and powders in a small wooden bowl. Sprinkling the contents over the lit candle, the flame grew and faded from orange to blue. Looking at his confused face, she assured him that it was simply for protection. "To make sure no demons are drawn to the energy. This is powerful black magic. Anti-Love spells are not considered beneficial. In fact, they're relatively rare and difficult to perform."  
  
"Well, then, I'll just assume you know what you're doing. Can you actually read this bloody stuff?" He asked referring to the text in the books.  
  
"Yes. Believe me, it isn't easy."  
  
"I believe you."  
  
"I knew you would." She brushed off her hands and lit three more candles, then placed them in the cardinal directions, one facing North, one South, one East and one West. She walked over to the bookshelf and selected a thick black book, which was in better condition than the others were. "Well, let's say we get started, hmm?"  
  
Spike gestured for her to proceed. Faitlin opened the book and scanned through the pages. She paused on one page, murmuring to herself. She looked at him, then back at the blue candle, which was facing North. Waving her hand over the candle, it returned to its original colour, a thin line of smoke coming off its tip. Raising her eyes to the ceiling, she called out in a commanding voice, "Zimb xalla bimb balmba xalla du xalla dimb." Lowering her eyes to the candles, she continued, "Venus, hear me, lift your spell from this man. Let him rise above your restraints. Set him free." She looked at Spike and motioned for him to come over.  
  
He stood at the opposite side of the table, near the Western candle, which turned a pale green upon his advance. Looking at Faitlin, he noticed her remove a small talisman, not unlike the pendant she was wearing, from the sleeve of her robe. She placed it in the mixing bowl with the herbs, then, with one of her nails, cut her finger, and let her blood drip into the bowl. As he saw this, Spike couldn't help but wonder how she would taste. Being so powerful, she'd probably be quite a good fix. Shaking away the thought, he reminded himself that he needed her help. Maybe he would feed on her later, he thought. Taking more herbs from the table, she sprinkled them in and around the bowl. Again, chanting in her foreign language, she raised her hands, as if praying to the heavens, and slowly the candles began to fade until they burned out completely and Spike was surrounded by darkness. 


	3. Chapter III: Confusion

Spike awoke in an alley. Dawn was nearing; he had no time to try to piece together what had happened in the warehouse. All he knew now was that Faitlin was nowhere in sight. Moving quickly through the streets, he reached his temporary home. Slipping through the boards which substituted for a door, he went into the abandoned shack on the edge of the city. As he passed one of the windows, he noticed the first few rays of light breaking over the horizon. He dove to the ground in fear of the light seeping through the broken window. When he hit the ground, something small and dirty fell from his pocket. It clinked on the ground with a metallic sound. He reached across the floor and picked it up. It was the talisman Faitlin had placed in the bowl of herbs. There was dried blood and a fine coat of unknown herbs over the pendant. He wondered how he got it. He wondered a lot. Crawling along the floor, as to avoid the sunlight, he slipped down the stairs into the basement. There, in the shadows, lay a mattress which he had stolen from one of the abandoned upstairs bedrooms. Tinfoil covered the windows, cutting out all of the light. Spike waited a moment and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Exhausted, he dropped onto the old mattress. Laying back, staring at the ceiling, he examined the talisman with his fingers. A seal of some sort was carved onto its smooth surface. Still confused, he tried to reconfigure what had happened.  
  
He remembered almost everything about the old room itself: the chair, the table, the bookshelf with its many books. He remembered looking through one of the books. It's unfamiliar text inscribed in his memory. The musty atmosphere remained in his nostrils. All the characteristics of the room remained fresh in this mind. The series of events, however, were foggy. He could, in his mind's eye, see Faitlin lighting a candle. He recalled the protection spell she did. She did so many detailed little things, that her actions were muddled in his memory. He saw Faitlin chanting in her foreign language. He saw her blood dripping into the bowl of herbs. Pausing, he willed himself to remember her scent. It was so very sweet. He regretted passing up the opportunity to taste such a powerful being. Moving on, he saw her chant again in the odd language. He then remembered the candles flickering and then extinguishing themselves. Pausing, to allow his memory to slowly kick in, he realized that nothing came to him after that. His head hurt though, that was for sure. Touching the crown of his skull, he felt a small hole through his hair. He had a hole in his head.  
  
"Bloody hell!" He exclaimed angrily. "What did that bleeding witch do to me!?" Smoothing back his hair, he swore to himself that if he ever saw her again, he'd beat her senseless. That was, if the chip in his head would allow him to. She may be a powerful witch, but there was a chance that the Magi left her human. Remembering her scent again, he recalled the power in the smell, but it was mildly human. She must be human. Very powerful, but still human. After minutes of contemplation, Spike concluded that she must have knocked him out and dragged him out of the warehouse. The damn spell probably didn't even work. He figured he would have to see Buffy to be sure. Right now, her was too confused to question his feelings for her.  
  
Still fingering the talisman, he wondered if he should even hold on to the useless thing. He suddenly, on a whim, stood, walked to the foot of the stairs and threw the talisman up into the light of the main floor. It was probably all bullshit. That girl wasn't a Magi. She was a fake, mutilating herself to appear as if she was more powerful than she actually was. But why? Spike's head still hurt. Now, along with the pain, it was swimming with doubt and questions. He could feel the house heating up in the morning sunlight. Forcing himself to close his eyes, he soon dozed off, sleeping heavily through the day. When he awoke, he told himself before falling asleep, he would go back to Sunnydale. He would test this "spell". 


End file.
